


And The Mist Curls

by navree



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 12:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11967216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navree/pseuds/navree
Summary: There's a hectic glaze in his eyes, a high flush in his cheekbones, and suddenly Veronica can understand, for a glimmer of a moment of a second, why there are people who love Jughead Jones.On a cool evening, Jughead Jones and Veronica Lodge take a walk in the dark.





	And The Mist Curls

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no clue when this takes place, because Riverdale is the actual definition of my problematic fave show. Let's just say it's a moment suspended in time and leave it at that.  
> as always, comments (either positive or constructive) are always welcome and much appreciated!

Despite being the textbook definition of a small town in every sense of the word, Riverdale is deceptively big enough that Veronica Lodge has found herself somewhat turned around. It doesn't help that there's a slight mist encroaching from the river, not enough to create a full block of white, but enough to blur vision and distort everything to a dreamlike quality. It creates the atmosphere of a fairy tale, ethereal and out of place in the world, but it remains nonetheless irritating when Veronica, who has not spent her entire life in this sad imitation of Mayberry, is attempting to find her way home. The fog does nothing to help her, and neither does the shoddy cell phone reception that prevents her from using Google Maps, and Veronica eventually abandons all attempts at outside help at a street corner. Leaning against a lamppost, she allows her eyelashes to flutter shut, and allows her ears to register every slight noise. The occasional rush of car tires against the road, the flapping of bird wings, muted snippets of conversations by uninterested and uninteresting passersby. They paint a picture in her mind, and if it hadn't been for her desire to get back home, Veronica would have gladly stayed and listened all night. 

"I think falling asleep while standing is a decidedly equine trait, not a human one." For a moment she's reminded of Little Red Riding Hood, of the girl on her own in a strange land approached by a dangerous stranger. But she doesn't wear red all that often, and Jughead Jones, for all his piqued sarcasm, is not necessarily all that dangerous. Yet in spite of his presence, Veronica refuses to open her eyes, although she does roll her head in the direction of his voice. 

"Don't you have anything better to do than skulk around at night, Jughead Jones the Third?" 

"Don't you?" She opens her eyes now, focuses on his smirk and his beanie pulled low over dark curls and the way he's sizing her up in a strange and indecipherable way. Not antagonistic, no, but curious, as if she's some strange new creation from on high that he's never seen before. And maybe he hasn't, hasn't ever made the acquaintance of a once proud ice princess torn down from her palace and flung out onto streets that cannot stand her. 

"I'm lost." Veronica isn't sure why she admits it, but she does, a slight shrug in her shoulders the only sign that she's not content with her current predicament. She closes her eyes again, waiting for the inevitable sardonic laugh and jibe to accompany it, probably something that has to do with her being entitled and spoiled and therefore incapable of properly reading a map, or something along the lines. But it doesn't come. The silence continues, and after a while Veronica allows herself to look at Jughead again. He doesn't look mocking, more so contemplative, and his eyes lack the usual solid veil she's come to associate with them. 

"You live at the Pembroke, right?" 

"Yeah." She drags the word out, confused and unsure, brows furrowed as she wracks her mind in an attempt to figure out where Jughead was going with this. He straightens himself up, and takes his hands out of his pockets, placing them on his hips instead. 

"Come on," he says, canting his head sideways with a twitch of his chin. "I'll walk you back." Her mouth opens, and Veronica wants to ask him why, when they don't speak all that often, and when they do with a teasing antagonism that marks them as a shy away from friends. She wants to ask him why, but she doesn't, because her father told her never to look a gift horse in the mouth, and because Veronica has found in the recent months that there is rarely a downside to accepting random acts of kindness. So she nods her assent, pushes herself off the lamppost, and the two of them set off into the mist, side by side with a sliver of distance maintained between them. 

"How _do_ you know where I love, Jughead Jones?" Her question, followed by his snorting laugh, is what breaks the surprisingly easy silence between them, and Veronica finds that she doesn't mind that they're headed toward a conversation, finds that she's looking forward to it. 

"Everyone knows where you live. Veronica Lodge, the raven haired princess living in her small town castle." 

"Or the closest thing she could find to a castle." Jughead laughs again, nodding in agreement to her description. "Why raven haired? It's just Archie's told me you've used it before," she elaborates when his brow quirks in confusion. "I'm curious."

"I used it to describe you in my novel once," he explains. "I guess it just sort of stuck." 

"I'm in your novel?" This time she's the one who's laughing, especially when Jughead knocks his shoulder into hers just the slightest amount, although his face reddens just the slightest shade. "Interesting." 

"Don't flatter yourself. It's a novel about Riverdale, Everyone's in it." She pictures that for a moment, a tale that encompasses everything that has happened in the town, all the drama and romance and intrigue and amusements that made Riverdale so uniquely Riverdale. 

"Tell me about it." Jughead turns to her sharply, his eyes suddenly unsure. He thinks she's mocking him, Veronica realizes, that she's not serious in her curiosity about his passion project. Her dark gaze holds his, deadly serious, no hint of any amusement or condescension. She wants him to know that she means what she says, that she wants him to talk, and that she won't make fun of him for it. He seems to believe her after a while, ducking his head and shoving his hands back into the frayed pockets of his jeans. 

"Well..." And then he begins, weaving a tale so intricate and so rich that Veronica's head spins with each new twist and turn. He's fully engrossed in his recitation, and even if she doesn't fully comprehend all of it, Veronica watches him, drinks Jughead in as he continues to talk. He gestures with his hands a lot, and a lock of hair has fallen in front of his face as he continues to monologue. She doesn't mind the monologuing. There's a hectic glaze in his eyes, a high flush in his cheekbones, and suddenly Veronica can understand, for a glimmer of a moment of a second, why there are people who love Jughead Jones. When allowed, he's not just sullen and moody, he's energetic and vivacious and it's understandable why people open their hearts to him. 

"That sounds amazing Jughead." He seems surprised by the sincerity in her voice, and his very expressive eyebrows titch upwards again. Veronica nods to confirm her opinion, and he returns her smile ever so slightly. 

"My sister loved it when I told her stories," he admits, kicking a pebble into the swirling fog as they continue to walk. "She got tired of little kid books pretty fast, and my mom wasn't all that great at inventing things on the fly way. My dad was, but a lot of it went over her head." Another laugh, just the tiniest bit harder than before. "He wasn't very good at keeping things necessarily age appropriate. But Jellybean," and here he gives her another look, to see whether she'll laugh **_(_** she doesn't **_)_** at the preposterousness of two children named Jughead and Jellybean Jones, "any time I started anything with _once upon a time_ she would pay as much attention as she could. She rarely stayed awake until the end, but she tried. She used to say that I was best storyteller the world had ever seen." There's a wistful lilt in his voice, and Veronica's smile thins as she wonders why. 

But then he begins to turn while she keeps going straight, and all of the sudden his hand is on the small of Veronica's back, turning her inwards and onto a different street corner. She starts at the touch, but Jughead doesn't take his hand off once he's guided her back to the appropriate path, instead keeps it there for a while, like a brush of dove wings. He's keeping his eyes away from her, and Veronica as well decides to train her gaze on the ground, until his hand slowly drags off. 

"I think I might have liked a sibling." To be entirely honest, she hasn't even thought anything like that until it comes out of her mouth. But it's the truth nonetheless. "Someone to just talk to, have around, be a friend, when things were going wrong. But my parents always said I was their miracle baby, so..." A casual shrug, and this time it's she who kicks a pebble out of their way. If she were a more poetic soul, she might think it was the same one Jughead had knocked over. But she's not, so she doesn't. She just links her hands together and braces them against the back of her neck, listening to their heels click against the asphalt of the sidewalk. 

"If Jellybean's around sometime, I might let you babysit." She scoffs at that, incredulous, and pushes him away from her when she notices his smile. "Almost had you for a second, didn't I?"

"Not at all," she counters, a saunter in her step. "Veronica Lodge doesn't do babysitting." Jughead's laugh is deep and full throated, head thrown back, and it makes Veronica laugh too, looping an arm through his on instinct. They catch their breaths for a minute, and she relishes in the easy silence, the sudden camaraderie as they continue to walk amidst the fog, the slight wet of it dampening her hair and his skin ever so slightly. And then they stop, the dusty lights from the windows of the apartment complex appearing like illuminated ghosts in the mist. She disentangles herself, pulling her cape tighter around her shoulder as she steps back. 

"The Pembroke," Jughead says with a nod in its direction, taking a step back. Veronica nods, turns, and begins mounting the steps, breathing in the cold clean of the air and the fresh way it smells. "Veronica?" She whips around just a tad too fast in his direction, and Jughead's already blurring a bit as the mist curls. "Thanks for listening." She smiles, completely unrestrained, and his eyes widen at it, before he smiles back at her, equally as uninhibited. 

"Thanks for walking me home." The invitation to do it again remains unspoken, but Jughead nods before giving her a casual salute and disappearing into the twisting white, leaving Veronica to warm herself on the memory of his voice and his touch as she makes her way back home.  


End file.
